


That Which Guides Us

by lurart



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Angst and Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Lyrium Withdrawal, Minor The Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Multi, Mutual Pining, Reluctant Hero, Rite of Tranquility, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Tranquil Inquisitor (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:02:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26400844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lurart/pseuds/lurart
Summary: Wrylen Levellan, an apostate runaway from the Ostwick Circle and a Dalish elf without a clan to call her own, suddenly finds herself at the center of a civil war and what could be the end of the world, all because of the mysterious mark on her hand. She wants nothing more than to cut and run; she hates her rumored divinity, eyes follow her everywhere, and the infuriatingly rigid "ex"-templar she's forced to work with refuses to trust her. Overall, the Inquisition feels just like the Circle she's just escaped.But a sense of obligation eventually overpowers her fight-or-flight response, and she resigns to do what's necessary to close the giant hole in the sky and help whoever she can along the way. There's just one problem, though.Wrylen Levellan is supposed to be tranquil.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Female Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford, Female Mage Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Additional warnings including possible triggers will be noted in each chapter's Authors Note!  
> (TW: mentions of blood and mild depictions of violence)
> 
> This fic includes both game scenes/dialogue as well as lots of original moments as well as some mild AU! Inquisitor Wrylen is my own.

_One._

Wrylen breathed in slowly, concentrating on the nug that was shuffling in the underbrush just a few feet away.

_Two._

She shifted her weight gently and pulled out her dagger from it’s spot at her waist.The nug was unaware of her presence, and her stomach growled where she was crouched, excited by the prospect of a full meal.

_Three!_

In one swift movement she shot up out of her hiding place, drew her arm back and threw the dagger with a desperate force. The blade flew through the air like a bolt of energy only to falter at the last moment and fall with a thunk at the nug’s feet. The creature shot the knife a quick, disinterested glance before promptly hopping away, completely unshaken.

_Fenedhis!_

Wrylen cursed and dropped to the ground with a groan. She’d been wandering Thedas aimlessly for over a month now, and had run out of the few provisions she’d started with early on. As a result, she was surviving primarily on what she could forage, since hunting was proving difficult.

As a mage and First to the Keeper, she’d never been much of a hunter to begin with. She was terrible with a bow, and had only ever used her dagger to harvest herbs and help skin the game the real hunters brought back. She did have experience with a sword, but even if she'd had one with her, what good would a sword be for hunting?

She could use her magic, but her first (and last) experience hunting with her staff in hand had not been pleasant. When she’d eaten the last of the food she’d brought with her, Wrylen had immediately gone on the hunt, and was successful; she’d brought down a sizable goose that provided her with several days worth of meat. She’d never used her magic for hunting before, however, and the kill had been messy and unclean. The goose came down in a ball of fire, calling out in pain the whole way down until she used her dagger to finally end it’s life. She threw up shortly after.

Wrylen sighed and dragged herself to her feet. If she wanted to eat, she’d need to start moving again. She picked up her dagger and sheathed it before walking back to her small campsite. If she was where she thought she was, the imperial highway would be nearby, and she could follow it until she came across a shemlen settlement. She wanted to avoid the shems as much as possible, but she had some coin, and she felt too discouraged at the moment to try hunting once more. Her stomach growled again at the thought of cured meat and fresh cheese as she grabbed her pack and pulled out her map.

She’d headed west on her way out of the land of the Free Marches, mostly following the path of the sun and staying far away from civilization, which meant avoiding the coasts of the Waking Sea. She’d already crossed the highway once when she was south of Nevarra, and as she studied the map, estimated herself to be just north of the highway now. She frowned at the shemlen cities marked on the map. Should probably avoid anything large enough to warrant a label, she thought as she tucked the paper back into her pack. There should be at least a few settlements large enough to have a tavern or shop, but small enough that she could purchase her goods and pass through without drawing attention.

It took a whole night before Wrylen finally began to hear the sounds of a community rising to meet the dawn. She left the cover of the woods and winced as her bare feet made contact with the rough gravel and dirt road that was the highway. 

Fields of farmland ripe with grapes and other fruits stretched out on the other side of the highway. Her eyes roamed the fields, taking note of the workers already out in the fields with their baskets, harvesting the bountiful crops. She crossed the road and stealthily picked berries and grapes from the alternating rows of plants as she walked.

As the sun rose into full view and climbed higher into the sky, the farmland turned to pastures full of rams and druffalo, which then fell away into the outskirts of a larger settlement. She tugged her hood lower over her face as she began to pass through the small community. Several shemlen were already walking about; a group of little shems screamed and giggled as they ran past her, not giving her a second thought, while their older, aging counterparts began to glance at her warily as she passed. She kept her head down and started toward a nearby building that smelled like bread and cooked meat. 

When she walked through the door, she was met with the warm interior of a quaint little inn. A few travelers donned the tables that were shoved against the walls, and she avoided looking at them as she headed to the nearby bar. A heavy-set, bearded shem met her gaze with indifference as he dug through a crate full of fresh vegetables. Drying herbs, meats, and fruits hung from the rafters behind the bar, the very sight making her mouth water. She stared in awe for a moment before finally clearing her throat.

“I’d like to purchase some food.”

The man grunted, “We got hot meals, bread, everything you see here,” he responded dryly, turning to grab a rag and wipe his hands.

Wrylen grabbed for her coin purse, “Just give me a loaf of bread, some cheese, and cured meat.”

“Y’sure you don’t want a meal?” He asked as he began assembling the requested goods, “Carved a fresh ram this morning, made my signature stew with it and some fresh roots. Good for energy.”

Wrylen’s stomach grumbled, unappeased by the handfuls of berries and grapes she’d already downed. She looked between her coin purse and the shem with a gulp.

“How much?”

Wrylen leaned back against the wall with a contented sigh. An empty bowl of the innkeeper's stew sat on the table in front of her, along with what was left of the loaf of bread that she’d intended to save for later. The man’s prices had been too good to refuse, even if her skin itched with discomfort from being around so many shemlen. 

She opened her eyes and dragged them around the room. Most of the travelers from before had left; only one still sat munching slowly away at his breakfast. He sat in the corner, at the far end of the room, and looked as weary as she felt. His dark hair hung in front of his face, and he mumbled to himself every now and then, quiet enough that even her elvhen hearing couldn’t make out the words. 

“Was it as good as I said?”

Wrylen turned to see the innkeeper approaching the table. He grabbed her empty bowl, eyes twinkling as if amused by its emptiness, though he wore a passive expression. She gave him a grateful smile, finding herself surprisingly eased is his presence, “Yes. Mas serannas, I needed that.”

The corner of his mouth twitched and he nodded. He began to turn back to the bar, but hesitated.

“We don’t see much of your people here.” He cleared his throat, and looked over at the other traveler, “Glad I could help, but you should be getting back to your clan. You should get rid of that… walking stick, too.” He tilted his head to where her staff was propped up against the bench she was sitting on. Wrylen eyed him warily as he turned back to her. His eyes were sad.

“You don’t want to get yourself mistaken for an apostate in these parts, miss.”

Her eyes narrowed. Before she could ask him for clarification, the air around her seemed to constrict. In the same moment, the door swung open, gaining their attention. A pair of heavily armored men marched through the door, and Wrylen snapped her gaze back to the table in front of her, lowering her head and pulling her hood farther down.

_Templars._

“What can I do for you gentlemen?”

She heard the innkeeper approach the templars, and she allowed her eyes to slide back over to the pair. They were turned away from her, and neither of them responded to the innkeeper’s inquiry. Instead, both were studying the man in the corner, who was now quiet and still, hand frozen where it held a hunk of half-eaten cheese at his mouth. Energy crackled around them all, and Wrylen realized with a jolt that the weary traveler was also a mage.

Everything happened in a blur; one of the templars drew his sword and released a wave of energy that knocked herself and the other mage to the ground. Dread sank cold and heavy in her stomach as she felt her connection to the fade temporarily altered. Shit shit shit shit, she prayed silently to her creators as she scrambled backward, wedging herself between bench, table and wall. She heard a strangled cry and looked up to see one of the templars pull the other mage to his feet by his hair and slam him face-first into the table. The other templar was now watching her.

“Harboring apostates, Bryce?” A cold, detached voice trickled from the templar’s helmet as he turned to face the innkeeper. The man swallowed hard, but his expression remained stoic. 

“I feed anyone who will pay, ser. I wasn’t aware they were mages.”

The templar gestured to Wrylen’s staff, now on the floor beside her. She inched her fingers toward it. 

“What’s that, then?” As he questioned the innkeeper as his partner returned to his side with the other mage bound and secured in front of him. His head hung low, hair once again covering most of his face, but Wrylen could make out the blood smeared across his forehead.

The innkeeper took a step back, refusing to look her way, “I don’t know, ser.”

It’s now or never.

Wrylen shot up and dashed to the door, leaving her staff and pack behind. As she touched the handle another bolt of energy slammed into her, forcing her out the door and onto the ground outside. Her ears caught the sound of shocked murmurs and cries nearby as she tumbled into the dirt with a gasp. A hand grabbed her by the hood and dragged her up, revealing her freckled, vallaslin-lined face. Her hands scrabbled at the hoods collar as it tightened against her windpipe, constricting her already labored breath.

The templar studied her reddening face, pulling her high enough that her feet left the ground. “Not only a mage, but a savage knife-ear as well. You’ve sullied your establishment, Bryce.”

He dropped her and she fell back to the ground with a grunt. She took in a single, ragged breath, hand sliding toward the dagger at her waist. Without further thought she shot up, dagger in hand, and jabbed the knife, deep and quick, through the thin opening in the templar’s helmet. She heard him fall to the ground with a howl of pain as she ran, ignoring the shouts and cries of the shemlen around her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It sounds like I don’t have a choice.”
> 
> Cassandra’s eyes darkened as she pulled the elf back up to her feet.
> 
> “None of us do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter, but if you'd like one added, please just let me know!

_I’m so sorry, Wrylen._

Wrylen stirred. Her legs felt cold and stiff.

_They’ve decided. The Rite will be performed tomorrow._

She shifted her weight, subconsciously trying to relieve the pressure on her knees. It registered deep in her mind that she was somewhere dark, cold, and unfamiliar. 

_I’m sorry._

It took some time for Wrylen to get her bearings; the fade kept trying to pull her back in, but each time she allowed herself to give in to its temptation, a searing pain would pulse up her arm, bringing her back to consciousness. When she finally dared to open her eyes, darkness still surrounded her. She would have thought herself still asleep if it weren’t for the sickly green glow that drew her blurred vision down to focus on the palm of her hand, where it lay shackled in her lap. A jagged, wound-like tear stretched across her palm and crackled with a bright, magical energy that sent shooting pains up her arm and into her shoulder. She inhaled sharply through gritted teeth and searched the corners of her memory, trying to figure out what the fuck had happened to her.

A door in front of her was thrown open, dragging her attention away from her thoughts and instead onto the silhouettes of a pair of shem women now standing before her. A small group of armed guards trailed into the room from behind them, holding lit torches that slowly revealed the room to her, and filled in the women’s features. Both of the women wore hardened expressions, and that was where their similarities ended. One was dressed like a warrior, with short black hair accented by a small braid circling the crown of her head, and cold, steely eyes; the other wore thin chainmail that resembled rogue armor, and had bright red hair that peeked out from under a dark hood that obscured most of her face other than her piercing blue eyes. The woman dressed like a warrior approached her, and Wrylen tried to focus on her as another bolt of pain shot up her arm. 

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now,” The warrior growled at her, “The Conclave is destroyed, and everyone who attended is dead. Except for _you_.”

Wrylen only stared, wary of condemning herself. _They think I killed them._ Her lack of response only angered the warrior more, and she lashed out, grabbing her roughly by the wrist.

“ _Explain this_!”

At her order, the magic in Wrylen's palm flared to life again, and she groaned around the pain as she finally tried to respond.

“I- _I can’t_...” She croaked, voice gravelly from disuse. _How long have I been here?_

Wrylen winced as the grip around her wrist tightened. “What do you _mean_ , you can’t!?” The woman growled, tone threatening.

“She'va dhal,” Wrylen hissed, “I don’t know what it is!” 

“ _You’re lying_!”

Wrylen ripped herself from the warrior's grasp as the woman moved to strike her. Before she could, her companion rushed forward and held her back.

“ _Stop_. We need her, Cassandra.”

Wrylen shook her head, still trying to wrap her mind around what was happening, “I don’t understand. Whatever you think I did-”

The rogue turned at the sound of her voice and interrupted her, “Do you remember anything at all?”

Wrylen sighed in frustration, trying to put her shattered memory into words, “I remember running. Something was chasing me. And then… a woman?”

That seemed sufficient for the time being. Cassandra sent her companion, Leliana, ahead as she once again approached Wrylen and released her shackles only to replace them with rope.

"Tell me what's going on. Please,” Wrylen tried again as the warrior worked. Cassandra refused to meet her gaze as she pulled her to her feet and led her outside.

"It will be easier to show you.”

As her eyes adjusted to the light outside the keep, Wrylen decided that _easier_ is not the word she would have used. She stood motionless, staring at the swirling green hole in the sky with a mixture of fear and awe. She felt Cassandra’s calculating stare on her as she finally explained their situation.

“We call it the Breach. It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It’s not the only such rift, just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the conclave.”

Wrylen shivered, but not from the cold.

“What kind of explosion does _that_?”

Cassandra turned from her to look out at the Breach, “We don’t know. What we do know, however, is that unless we act, the breach may grow until it swallows the world.”

On cue, a wave of energy rippled through the Breach just as another current of pain crackled through Wrylen’s arm. She cried out at its intensity and fell to her knees, staring at the pulsing green mark in her hand.

Cassandra knelt down and grabbed Wrylen’s shoulder, speaking fervently, “Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads - and it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this but there isn’t much time.”

Wrylen ground her teeth against the fading pulses of pain. She was tired and scared, and she wanted nothing more than to run, but Cassandra was _right there_ , and they were both surrounded by soldiers. She looked back at Cassandra, searching her face.

“It sounds like I don’t have a choice.”

Cassandra’s eyes darkened as she pulled the elf back up to her feet.

“None of us do.”

Sometime after their attempt to close the Breach, she wakes up alone and unrestrained in a large, warm bed, and she's surprised that the world hasn't ended. 

Wrylen sat up with a groan, feeling stiff. She looked down at the mark on her palm, relieved to find it void of light and pain. She peered out the nearby cabin window; It was still dark outside, and she could neither see nor hear a soul moving out in the blackness. There would be guards somewhere, though. She quietly slipped from the covers of her bed and crept through the dim light of her cabin, bare feet gliding across the rough floorboards. When she made it to the cabin’s door, she pressed against her ear against it, listening.  
  
An armored body shuffled on the other side of the door. As she thought, someone had stationed one or two guards outside her cabin. Whether the guards were there to protect her, or keep her prisoner, though, she could not say. She couldn’t help but think the latter was more likely, however.  
  
She set to work quickly and quietly by the light of a single candle. Someone had left her a clean set of light armor; she donned the clothing, satisfied to find it warm as well as protective. The staff she had picked up during the approach on the Breach was in the cabin as well, along with her dagger. They’d both been cleaned, and the dagger polished; she tried not to dwell on the care her weapons were given as she equipped them. There was a platter with a few small chunks of dried meat and cheese on the nearby table that she then threw into a pack she found tucked away in a corner before finally looking for an exit.  
  
One of the windows would have to do. She eased over to the window near her bed and peered out into the darkness again. When she felt the coast was clear she unlatched the thick windowpane and slid up and through the opening. She landed softly outside, thankful for the snow that further quieted her fall, though she flinched at the cold that shot through her bare feet.

She crept around the nearby cabins, avoiding the eyes of the guards outside her door and hugging against the nearby walls for cover. She was relieved for only a moment when she saw the large gates nearby; the exit was so close, yet to go that way was surely suicide. Even if she could pull open one of the large doors herself, it was sure to have soldiers stationed on the other side of it. She glanced around. The cabin she just left butted against a hill that ran alongside part of Haven’s walls. If she fade-stepped, she’d be able to scale the wall. 

She dropped down on the other side of Haven’s walls without a hitch, and she paused for a moment to breathe. She made her way down the hill slowly, following its natural slope. She came to a ledge, where part of Haven’s cobblestone foundation jutted out and she crouched to take in her surroundings. Tents dotted the land in front of her, and a few glowed from the lit candles inside them. With her night vision, she could make out two figures walking through the lines of tents, most likely guards on patrol. A small trail ran between her and the tents, leading back to Haven and more buildings in one direction, and then leading into a thickly wooded area in the other. She slid off the ledge and landed softly on the ground.

She’d barely taken a step in the direction of the woods when the mark on her palm suddenly burst with energy. She muffled a cry of surprise at the sudden flash of light and closed the marked hand into a fist, grabbing at it with her other hand to cover it up. Her stomach sank as she then heard a shout; she’d been seen.

“ _Stop!_ ”

She ran blindly in the direction of the woods, only to have her feet fly out from under her as someone grabbed her arm and yanked her back. She gasped as her ass hit the ground and muttered a curse. 

Wrylen recognized her captor as he dragged her up and back to her feet. He was the man Cassandra had called _Commander_ ; she’d only seen him for a handful of seconds, but the fur crowding his shoulders like a lion’s mane was far from forgettable. _As was the way he held himself; like a templar_. His golden eyes glared at her wordlessly as he pulled her arms tight behind her and ripped her staff from her back, tossing it into the snow behind him. One of the patrolling soldiers ran up to them, gaining his attention.

“Recruit, go find Sister Leliana, we need-”

“I’m here, Commander.”

Leliana’s voice danced from around the corner. She smiled at Wrylen’s stunned expression as she melted out of the shadows and approached them, the torch in her hands bathing them all in an orange glow. 

“Recruit,” The rogue turned her gaze to the soldier, who looked shaken by the woman’s presence, “Go back to your tent. Twilight is upon us; get some rest while you can.” She took a step closer to him, “And speak of this to no one.”

Wrylen’s brow furrowed and she felt the Commander huff in frustration behind her. The soldier nodded with widened eyes and left them quickly without protest. Leliana looked back at the Commander and then down to where he had Wrylen restrained. 

“You can let her go now, Cullen.”

The grip on Wrylen’s wrists tightened instead, and she hissed at the pressure. She shot a glare behind her shoulder as Leliana frowned, eyes flashing in the darkness. Cullen's simply narrowed his own eyes as he met Wrylen's glare with one of his own.

“ _Commander_.”

“ _Sister Nightingale_ ,” the Commander gritted out, “I don’t think that’s a wise decision.”

Leliana shook her head, “We cannot hope to gain her trust by treating her like a prisoner.” She looked at Wrylen, gaze sympathetic, “No harm will come to you. We simply need to speak with you. Will you allow us that?”

Wrylen hesitated before responding with a short nod. Cullen scoffed from behind her.

"Leliana, whether or not _she_ trusts us is not the concern- ,"

"Cullen, _enough_." Leliana took a step forward, brow darkening.

Cullen’s grip on her faltered slightly in response, but he still hesitated for a moment before finally releasing her completely. She sighed quietly in relief and rubbed at her wrists, immediately glancing at where her staff lay in the snow. Cullen followed her gaze and stepped between her and the weapon, shooting her a warning look.

Leliana came to her side and gestured back in the direction of town.

“Come.”

Leliana guided them back through the village’s main gates. They passed Wrylen’s cabin, and she smirked when the guards outside her door stared in shock as she walked by. She was led to a back room in Haven’s small chapel, where Cassandra was waiting for them. Another woman she’d yet to meet stood at the Seeker’s side, with darker skin and regal features that were complemented by golden, delicately embroidered robes.

Cullen rounded the table at the center of the room to stand beside Cassandra. He spoke to her softly and she brushed him off with a shake of her head. He frowned and looked back at Leliana. 

“How did you know she would run?”

“I didn’t,” The rogue met Cullen’s hard stare with one of her own. Wrylen crossed her arms and glared down at the table in front of her, listening with growing annoyance. “I simply assumed it might be possible, considering her status as an apostate. She’s right to be wary.”

_So, she’s been watching me._

“And we've a right to be wary of _her_! How do we know she- ,”

“Everyone, please.” The woman in gold finally spoke up. Wrylen met the woman’s kind gaze, surprised by the warmth she saw there. The woman smiled and took a few steps towards her. “Andaran atish’an, my Lady Herald. My name is Josephine Montilyet.”

Wrylen’s guard dropped for a moment, “You.. you speak elvhen?”

Josephine’s smile turned apologetic, “You’ve just heard the entirety of it, I’m afraid. I’m sure you’re very confused, and have many questions. Please, allow us to explain.” She gestured to Cassandra, who nodded and took a breath.

“This is a writ from Divine Justinia,” Cassandra presented a thickly bound tome from behind her back and set it on the table,“It grants the right and left hands the authority to act in her absence, to do what must be done to restore order in a time gone mad.”

“It is the Divine’s directive,” Leliana murmured, looking down at the book, “Rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos.” She looked up at Wrylen, gaze distant, “The Breach still remains. You’ve helped us escape immediate danger, but this unknown magic continues to threaten all of Thedas - and your mark is our only hope of closing it for good.”

Wrylen glanced between the women, confused, “So - you believe I’m innocent?”

“Not entirely,” Cullen answered immediately, “There are still questions that -”

“ - At another time, Cullen.” Cassandra snapped, silencing the man, “We cannot ignore that the Maker has sent her in our hour of need.”

  
“The Maker?!” Wrylen exclaimed, “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a mage _and_ a Dalish elf, how can I be sent by your ‘Maker’?”

“I have not forgotten what you are.” Cassandra’s tone softened, “I will not, however, pretend you were not exactly what we needed, when we needed it. And now, we must close the Breach, find those responsible, and restore order - with you at our side.”

Wrylen’s stomach dropped and she felt the ground shift beneath her as all eyes fell on her. The mark on her hand pulsed with energy in response to the attention.

_I don’t want this._

“What if I refused.”

Cassandra and Cullen stiffened at the question as Leliana took a step forward.

“No one’s stopping you from leaving, if that’s your wish.”

_Oh, but It is._

Leliana continued before Wrylen could laugh at her words, “We only stopped you tonight because we wanted the chance to explain ourselves. Now that we have, you may leave if you so desire.”

“But you should know,” Cassandra interjected, “While some believe you’re chosen, many still think you’re guilty. The Inquisition can only protect you if you are with us.”

Josephine nodded, “We can help you,” She offered reassuringly, tone warm and friendly.

The Commander offered no additional comfort, electing to simply watch her warily as the others spoke. Cassandra sighed and crossed her arms against her chest.

“It… will not be easy if you stay, but you cannot pretend this has not changed you.”

Wrylen ran a hand through her hair to hide the way it was shaking. They all watched her silently, awaiting her response with deafening silence.

“I’m… an apostate,” Every word she offered them felt like a nail in her coffin, “... a runaway from the Ostwick circle. They have my phylactery.” Her gaze shifted to the Commander, and his mouth tightened into a thin line that creased the scar on his upper lip, “How do I know I won’t be handed over to the templars when they come knocking?”

Leliana shrugged, "All mages are apostates right now. With the Chantry struggling to organize itself and the Templars threatening to break away, I can't imagine the Circle would focus effort on going after a single mage while its currently fighting for its own survival."

“Even if that weren't the case, what you were before the explosion no longer matters.” Cassandra declared, tone and gaze unfaltering, “Right now, what matters is that you have the power to close the rift.”

Cullen’s expression darkened, but he once again said nothing as the others looked on hopefully. Cassandra’s words had certainly settled some of her unease, but Wrylen was still hesitant. The Commander’s distrust of her was evident, and she firmly believed many of the shemlen around them would have a similar disregard for her.

_However._

She was tired of running. Even if Haven and it’s Inquisition was just another form of imprisonment, she’d prefer to make use of the protection offered to her here, for now, rather than meet the fate that awaited her back at Ostwick.

“... If you’re really trying to restore order…”

“That is the plan.” Leliana smiled.

Cassandra stepped toward Wrylen and held out her hand, expression determined, “Help us fix this before it’s too late.”

Wrylen grasped the woman's arm, still wondering if she’d ever really had a choice from the start.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She pushed off from the door and glared down the hall. The Chantry’s sunburst insignia shone gold and bright from where it hung above the back room, embroidered into a blood-red cloth. She squared her shoulders and ignored the desire to turn and run as she instead moved forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only possible TW is for generic in-game violence.

She’s cold and alone again, and it’s hard to even breath; there’s pressure everywhere, squeezing her skull and tightening around her chest. But Wrylen brought this on herself.

She tries to meditate, to focus on her breathing.

_In, out._

_In, out._

The isolation cell has no windows, no light, and next to no airflow. It’s silent as death around her, even with her good hearing. She’d been thrown in here many times before, and yet she’s still just as uncomfortable and panicked as she was the first time.

This time it's even worse, now that she knows what's to come.

Metal screeches as the bolt to the cell door is drawn out and back. A _thunk_ resounds, absurdly loud in the silence, as the locking mechanism finally releases. The Knight-Lieutenant is there, with Garrison at his side. He glares at her hard from under his helmet, a typical expression for the young templar; she’d always made it a point to be his most difficult charge. 

Wrylen behaves this time, though. She rises and doesn’t resist as Garrison grabs her roughly by her restraints. Her hands are locked behind her by cold, sharp metal, and she keeps them still as his gauntlets dig into her wrists. They say nothing as Garrison drags her out and the Knight-Lieutenant leads them to the council chamber where the Grand Enchanter and the Knight-Captain are awaiting them, accompanied by their own retinue of templars.

Wrylen remains docile, but doesn’t bother to mask her contempt for the mage before her. He meets her gaze with dead eyes, a reflection of the empty shell he’s become.

“A decision has been reached,” The Grand Enchanter murmured, voice low and monotone.

“You will be Tranquil.”

Wrylen woke with a gasp and pitched forward as she came to, grabbing at her head and folding in on herself. Her knees drew up to her chest as she struggled for a moment to get her breathing under control, and she shivered as Haven's persistent chill hit the thin sheen of sweat that had collected on her neck. She found herself calm once again a moment later, the memory fading away as quickly as it had invaded her sleep. Early morning sunlight filtered into her cabin, and she felt sighed to herself as she rose to dress for the day that lay ahead.

The meeting from the day before had ended after she’d convinced them all that she was there to stay. _For now_. After she’d taken Cassandra’s arm, Josephine moved that they adjourn for the day to allow her to settle in. Cullen had been the first to leave, brushing past Wrylen with a scowl on his face, obviously displeased by the morning’s events. Cassandra had left soon after, but not before telling Wrylen they’d all meet the next morning in the same spot, which she referred to as Haven’s Chantry. Leliana and Josephine were more friendly as they departed; Leliana had at least apologized for making her feel like a prisoner, _though I technically still am one_ , Wrylen thought, and Josephine offered to do whatever she could to make her feel more comfortable.

Once Wrylen could escape the chapel, she’d simply gone back to her cabin, where she remained for the entire day. When she got hungry, she ate the cheese and meat that she’d packed away, refusing to leave her small sanctuary.

Now, she found herself frozen at the cabin's threshold, fully dressed and with short, silvery hair brushed through for the first time in weeks, and left with nothing else to do but step outside She took a moment to steady herself before cursing at her hesitation and promptly shoving the cabin door open.

The curious eyes of the pious followed her as she walked. No one called out to her, but her gifted hearing picked up on the hushed whispers and prayers of the shemlen around her. She kept her gaze low, only looking up when the energy around her changed slightly, signaling a templar’s presence. An Inquisition soldier met her gaze when she searched for the source, giving her a short nod, eyes cold and passive. She picked up her pace and felt a rush of relief when she finally pulled the heavy doors of the Chantry closed behind her. 

She rested against it for a moment and took in the dimly lit interior. She’d not given the chapel a second thought when she’d been pulled inside it the day before, but now she couldn’t shake off the _wrongness_ she felt just by being there. Being Dalish was bad enough; the Chantry condemned the Creators, and called her blasphemous, a heretic, for not believing in their Maker. Her being a mage only further disparaged her in the eyes of the truly faithful.

_And yet some of them still wish to call me their Herald._

She pushed off from the door and glared down the hall. The Chantry’s sunburst insignia shone gold and bright from where it hung above the back room, embroidered into a blood-red cloth. She squared her shoulders and ignored the desire to turn and run as she instead moved forward.

Cassandra was the only one in the room, leaning against the table and studying the maps atop it. She looked up to give Wrylen a nod when she entered and turned back to the maps.

They waited in silence for the others to join them, Wrylen moving about the room restlessly while Cassandra continued to study the maps. When Leliana entered, Wrylen shared soft greetings with the rogue as she paced, stilling once she realized the rogue’s eyes hadn't left her. When Wrylen turned to her, Leliana smiled apologetically.

“I’m sorry if you’re uncomfortable here.” She murmured gently, “The Chantry is the only building large enough to serve our present needs.”

Wrylen looked away, caught off-guard by the rogue’s intuition and unnerved by the sudden weight of Cassandra’s attention as the Seeker shot them a curious look, “It’s uh, fine. I’m fine.”

Cassandra opened her mouth as if to speak, but turned as the door opened once again. Cullen entered with Josephine right behind him. The ambassador smiled broadly when she met Wrylen’s gaze and pranced up to her.

“Lady Wrylen, it is good to see you. You look so much better today. Are you feeling well?”

Wrylen hesitated, feeling strangely caught off guard by the sound of her own name. The last time she'd heard it was when she'd just ran from the circle, before there was a giant hole in the sky and a flashing magical wound on her palm, “Oh, um. Yes, I am. Thank you for your concern, Josephine.”

The diplomat’s smile grew even warmer, “Of course. Is it alright that I called you by your first name? I don’t believe I got the chance to learn your family name, or - would it be your clan name- ,”

“It’s fine,” She answered quickly, feeling the slightest tug of guilt at interrupting the woman, “I mean - just Wrylen, please.”

Cullen cleared his throat, “It appears we’re all here. Shall we get started?” He looked at Cassandra, brow raised. The Seeker nodded and pushed away from the table.

“Let’s begin with more proper introductions.” She said, moving to Wrylen’s side and tilting her head toward Josephine.

“Lady Josephine Montilyet is our ambassador and chief diplomat. Her expertise will prove useful as the Inquisition expands its influence.”  
  
Josephine curtsied, obviously pleased by the complements. Cassandra gestured with her arm in Leliana’s direction, “Sister Leliana is our spymaster. She’s responsible for keeping us informed and ahead of our opposition.”

Leliana bowed her head slightly, “Well put, Cassandra.”

“And Cullen is the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces.” The Seeker concluded with a nod in man’s direction. He said nothing, only acknowledging the introduction with a stiff nod. Cassandra continued, ignoring the tension.

“Where we go from here is unclear, but one thing is for certain,” The Seeker resumed her post at the table, leaning over the map, “If we are to close the Breach for good, we need more power.”

“Which means we must approach the rebel mages for help,” Leliana offered.

Wrylen felt herself nod subconsciously at the mention of the mages, immediately attracted to the familiarity of magic.

“I still disagree. The Templars could serve just as well," Cullen scoffed

Her gaze shifted to him, unsurprised. Now that she could see him more clearly, he looked every bit the templar; the only thing missing was the tell-tale pull of energy that typically surrounded one. She watched him warily as he and Cassandra exchanged words.

“We need _power_ , Commander. Enough magic poured into that mark–”

“Might destroy us all. Templars could suppress the breach, weaken it so–”

Leliana cut in, “Pure speculation.”

Cullen sighed, “I was a templar, Leliana. I know what they’re capable of.”

_Was_? Wrylen furrowed her brow. Before Leliana could respond, Josephine spoke up.

“ _Unfortunately_ , neither group will even speak to us yet. The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition,” She turned to Wrylen,“...and _you_ , specifically.”

“Shouldn’t they be busy arguing over who’s going to become Divine?” Cullen muttered.

Josephine continued, eyes still on Wrylen, “Some are calling you – a Dalish elf – the 'Herald of Andraste.’ That frightens the Chantry. The remaining Clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harboring you.”

“Chancellor Roderick’s doing, no doubt,” Cassandra grunted.

“Ultimately, approaching anyone for help is currently out of the question.”

Wrylen crossed her arms with a huff, "Just how am I the 'Herald of Andraste’?”

Leliana gave her an understanding smile, “I understand it’s uncomfortable, but people are desperate for a sign of hope. For some, you’re that sign.”

“And to others, a symbol of everything that’s gone wrong.” Josephine countered.

“Ghilan'nain ma ghilana,” Wrylen murmured, gripping the table in front of her and staring down at the maps atop it. Her gaze traveled up to the lands of the Free Marches and lingered on the label for Ostwick.

Leliana broke the silence, “There is something you can do. A Chantry Cleric by the name Mother Giselle has asked to speak to you. She is not far, and knows those involved far better than I. Her assistance could be invaluable.”

Wrylen stiffened.

“What? Why would she want to meet with me?”

“Perhaps she doesn’t agree with her sisters,” Leliana shrugged, ”In any case, I believe speaking with her could provide us with some valuable insight. She could give us the names of those speaking most loudly against us.” The spymaster paused and looked over the report in her hands, "She's currently with a small group of healers in the Hinterlands, near the Crossroads. They're trying to help refugees fleeing from the battles between rogue mages and templars."

"We've already sent soldiers to the area to establish a small foothold and make contact with a local horse master." Cullen stated gruffly, avoiding Wrylen's gaze when she turned to him. He gestured to a few markers on the maps instead, pointing out the location of the Crossroads and other points of interest as he spoke, "Their latest report requests aid in clearing the crossroads so that the Mother and her healers can move the injured to safer ground. The fighting in the area has also inhibited our soldiers’ ability to contact the horse master. You can meet our soldiers at the Inquisition camp here, just south of the crossroads."

___________________________

Wrylen took in the soldiers and scouts around her warily as she walked through the Inquisition’s small camp with Cassandra at her side. The rather conservative group seemed insignificant from a distance, but upon closer inspection, what they lacked in number and resources, they more than made up for in passion and their strength of conviction.

She just wished _she_ wasn’t the source of their motivation.

"Wow. _The Herald of Andraste_ … I've heard the stories, _everyone_ has..!”

Wrylen sighed quietly to herself as she focused on the woman in front of her, a red-headed dwarf with a friendly face full of freckles, much like her own. She forced a grin.

"Um, what are these stories everyone has heard, exactly?"

The dwarf shrugged, "Oh, you know - nothing major, they just say that you’re the last great hope for Thedas."

"Ah. I… see."

The dwarf smiled and lifted her fist to her chest in a salute, “Well, anyway - Inquisition Scout Harding, at your service. I - well, all of us here - will do whatever we can to help! Everyone's a little nervous around mages right now, but you'll get no back-talk here, that's a promise!"

Wrylen offered the scout a tentative smile in return, “I - thank you, Scout Harding. It’s uh - a pleasure to meet you.”

Varric piped up, suddenly appearing nearby with Solas right behind him, “Harding, huh? Ever been to Kirkwall’s Hightown?”

  
“I can’t say I have. Why?”

Varric smirked, “You’d be harding in a…” He paused then shook his head, “Oh, never mind.”

Wrylen raised a brow as Cassandra scoffed in annoyance beside her. Harding grinned with a shake of her head and turned her attention back to Wrylen.

“Now - about the current situation,” Harding started, the smile quickly falling from her face as her tone turned serious, “We’ve been trying to make contact with Redcliffe’s old horse master. I grew up here, and people always said that Dennet’s herd were the strongest and fastest this side of the Frostbacks. But with the mage-templar fighting getting worse, we couldn’t get to Dennet.” Harding sighed, expression pained, “Maker only knows if he’s even still alive.” She paused and cleared her throat before continuing, “Mother Giselle’s at the crossroads helping refugees and the wounded. Corporal Vale and our men are doing what they can to help protect the people, but they won’t be able to hold out very long.”

Cassandra stepped forward and shot Wrylen an expectant look, “Sounds like we’d best get going then, Herald.”

Wrylen exhaled slowly as she gave the Seeker a short nod, “Right. Okay, let’s go.”

The sound of fighting quickly surrounded them as they hurried down the dirt path that led away from camp and into the valley below, spurring their brisk walk into a run, then into a sprint as soldiers came into view.

“There! Inquisition forces!” Cassandra shouted, surging forward, “They’re trying to protect the refugees!”

Icy cold fear shot through Wrylen’s veins as she took in the sight before her. A band of rogue templars had rounded on a small group of Inquisition soldiers, only to break apart and begin running in her direction at the sight of reinforcements. She froze for a moment, staff gripped tightly in hand as Varric and Solas rushed ahead of her to flank the incoming templars.

A shout knocked her out of her haze and she whipped her head around wildly to find a templar guard barreling towards her, his shield large and blinding as it reflected the midday sun. The startle spurned her into action and she gasped as she threw herself to the side while summoning an ice mine onto the spot she’d just occupied. She felt the templars bulk fly past her before he froze, encased into a crackling layer of ice. She heard Cassandra call out and turned to rush to her friend while the templar guard was occupied.

“Templars! Please, hold!” Cassandra grunted as she parried a templar’s blow. Wrylen slammed her staff into the ground, sending an icy blast of air in the templar’s direction to give Cassandra an opening as she continued to try and speak with their attackers.

“We are not apostates! We are here to help!”

“I do not think they care, Seeker!” Solas shouted as he cast lifewards around them all. Wrylen felt her confidence increase as the magical energy coursed through her and she turned, ready and willing as the templar guard from before broke free from his icy prison. 

They dispatched the templars quickly, and all took a breath of relief before a warning yell from one of the Inquisition soldiers had them readying their weapons again.

“ _Apostates_!”

Wrylen exhaled slowly through her nose as she looted the corpse of one of the mages that had just attacked them. She’d fully expected to encounter enemies; the others back in Haven had warned her that her destination was a literal war zone. And yet, she still had not been prepared for what had been waiting for her. The wild animosity of the crossroad templars was jarring and the mages acted without control or reason. Both groups attacked blindly, and sought to destroy anything and anyone in their path.

Her stomach churned as the smell of burnt flesh tickled her senses and she pulled back from the mage’s corpse before she could lose her breakfast. She rubbed at her face with her sleeve and turned to find Varric watching her. He was just a few steps away, tasked with keeping lookout while she and the others were distracted. She raised a brow and he smiled softly in response.

"You feeling alright, Starlight?"

She blinked, “Starlight?”

He chuckled, "It's a nickname. Your hair is like silver, and it shines and shimmers like stars.”

"Ah," She said, blushing as she looked away, feeling uneasy under the dwarf’s attention.

Varric was something of a mystery to her; since the very first moment he spoke to her, he did so with an ease and familiarity that made her feel like she’d known him for a lifetime, but his words also felt crafted and organized, as if each story he shared was just a facet of a larger, taller tale that she wasn’t allowed to hear yet.

“You know, you remind me of someone.”

She leaned against her staff, gripping it tightly in front of her and staring at where her hands were wrapped around it, “Oh?”

Varric chuckled, "It's your expression - I swear she makes the same face just after a fight.”

She glanced at him, but didn’t respond. He sighed and smiled, eyes growing distant.

"Hawke could talk shit during a fight like the best of em, but at the end of the day she always had that look of regret.”

Wrylen’s eyes widened, realization dawning on her, “You know the Champion of Kirkwall..?”

He laughed at her surprise, “I sure would hope so, I did write the book on her.” He grinned at her, incredibly amused.

“I wasn’t aware there was a book,” Wrylen murmured apologetically, “I’ve only heard things; rumors…”

“Well then, I’ll have to get you a copy,” Varric scratched at the stubble on his cheek, “Y’know, I’m pretty sure I’ve got one back in Haven.”

“A copy of what?”

They turned to find Cassandra approaching them with Solas right behind her. 

“Varric’s book, I didn’t know he was a writer,” Wrylen answered her. Her brow shot up in surprise as Cassandra scoffed.

“Yes, he’s quite the storyteller,” She muttered dryly, scowling down at the dwarf. Varric smirked.

“Do my ears deceive me, or was that a complement, Seeker?”

Cassandra ignored him, “The area is clear. Inquisition soldiers are almost done setting up camp, and refugees are beginning to settle in,” She reported as Wrylen turned to face her. Solas waited for her to finish before adding that Mother Giselle was waiting for her.

Wrylen nodded, “Okay. Let’s go.”

_You could build the Inquisition into a force that could deliver us, or destroy us._

Wrylen stood where she’d exchanged words with Mother Gisselle. She stared out at the war-ravaged settlement, emotion stirring within her. The refugees continuing to populate the area were growing numerous, all suffering from the war that raged on around them. 

She was here because she _had_ to be. She was the only one with the ability to close the Breach, so she had no choice but to go along with the shemlen's plans and join their inquisition, because that was the right thing to do, the only thing she could do. So when she shook Cassandra’s hand, she’d made a decision; she’d keep her head down and stay out of the way, so that she could close the Breach and be on her way. 

What kind of monster would she be, to just put her head down and ignore the pain and misery now in front of her?

Solas spoke up softly behind her, “The mages and the templars chose a poor location for working out their differences. So many innocent lives, caught in the middle. Perhaps the Inquisition could find a way to help these people?”

Wrylen straightened her shoulders and turned to Cassandra. The Seeker nodded, sensing her question before it even found breath.

“Corporal Vale is the leading officer here. He should have some information for us.”

And so, with a new sense of purpose, Wrylen found her trip to the Hinterlands extended.


End file.
